


Love Hurts

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy has a cat who likes to show his affection by licking people, and it’s very enamored with Matt. Unfortunately it’s also unpredictable, and Matt just really doesn’t appreciate random sandpapery tongue attacks on his sensitive skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the [daredevilkink prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/4501.html?thread=8833941#cmt8833941) “Gen: Foggy gets a cat who constantly licks Matt”. Thanks to [Ash](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MomentumDeferred/pseuds/MomentumDeferred) for the beta and cat-related sanity check! Also, this was super fun to write. Sometimes I think I need to venture outside of my angsty h/c comfort zone a little more often.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

Foggy’s cat is named Stink.

Well, no, it isn’t actually named Stink. Matt doesn’t recall what its real name is. Something more conventional, like Tiger or Bailey or Romeo. But Foggy has just always called him Stink, because he sometimes has “mouth stink”. Usually when Foggy gives him the wet food with fish flavor as a treat. And, yes, Matt can certainly confirm that.

The fact of the matter is, Stink has a thing for Matt. Whenever he’s at Foggy’s place, Stink will pounce on him. He wouldn’t really mind so much, but Stink is a licker. And Stink’s tongue is like sandpaper on Matt’s skin.

The first time it happens, Matt and Foggy are pouring over the classifieds for a place to rent as their office. There’s beer and take-out, and Stink slinks around their legs as they lounge on Foggy’s couch. Then he jumps up on the armrest, struts along the top of the backrest and bumps his head against Matt’s. His purr is loud in Matt’s ear.

Matt startles, but ignores it. He’s never been a cat person. Even without the allergies, he can empathize with Claire.

And then Stink starts licking Matt’s hair, and just… ew.

“Your cat’s licking my hair.”

“Yeah, he does that sometimes. Usually means he likes you.”

“Great,” Matt says dryly.

+-+-+-+-+

“Ow!”

Matt pulls back his arm. The one Stink just started licking with his little, abrasive tongue while Matt and Foggy work on a case. After hours. At Foggy’s place.

“What?” Foggy asks, his tone almost accusing. Foggy loves Stink, will defend him to the death.

“Your cat’s licking me again.”

“Stop complaining. It’s a sign of affection. He likes you.”

“His tongue is really rough.”

“Seriously? It’s tiny. How can that hurt?”

“Your cat is a beast of a thing. Besides… my senses, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Foggy muses. “Sensitive skin. Kinda forgot about that.”

“Ow! Stop that.” Matt says again, pushing Stink aside. Gently. Foggy still grumbles at him. Probably draws a disdainful face.

“He just wants to love you. He’s undoubtedly cat-pouting right now. You’re totally hurting his feelings.”

“Cats don’t pout, Foggy.”

“How would _you_ know? You can’t even see him.”

Matt sighs. Foggy loves Stink, and so, by default, Matt has to make an effort to love the damn fur ball as well. Or at the very least like it. Tolerate it. That’s the least he can do.

He reaches over and lightly scritches Stink between the ears. His purr increases in volume. Matt has to admit it has a certain soothing quality to it.

+-+-+-+-+

“You brought your cat?” Matt asks incredulously.

Foggy puts the portable cage on the floor and opens the door so that Stink can roam freely around Matt’s apartment.

“Yeah. He’s alone enough while I’m at work, and I can’t expect Layla to entertain him all weekend.”

“Layla?”

“Lives next door.”

“Attractive?”

“Lesbian.”

“Ah.”

“So, seeing how I got enlisted for nurse duty Chez Murdock, yes, I brought my cat. He has a name, you know?”

“It’s debatable ‘Stink’ even _is_ a name. Besides, no one enlisted you. I can—“

“Take care of yourself, I know,” Foggy interrupts him. “Though, wait, you actually can’t. Cause a broken ankle is nothing to be trifled with, and I know your sense of self-preservation is practically non-existent, so I enlisted myself. For _your_ good. You better be grateful.”

He is. More than he’d ever admit. Because the crutches are a real pain in the neck, and life has become a whole lot more bothersome of late.

“If he starts cat-spraying my furniture, I’m making you replace it.”

“Geez. He’s neutered, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

+-+-+-+-+

Stink feels right at home in Matt’s apartment. Probably loves the large spaces.

He hasn’t cat-sprayed anything (because Matt could tell), but he’s sniffed things. All the things. Head-bumped a few of them to leave his facial pheromones. Matt asks Foggy to keep the sliding door to the bedroom closed.

 _Plonk_. Matt wakes from his nap—when did he even fall asleep?—when something is deposited in his lap. Oh. It’s just the massive, smelly fur ball that’s decided to drop by for a very intimate visit.

Stink turns around his own axis once, then drapes himself across Matt’s thighs. All nine pounds of him.

Matt can’t help but let out a sigh. It’s maybe 40% exasperation and 60% contentment. Because Stink is nice and warm, and the vibration of his purr isn’t all that unpleasant. There are some things about Stink that Matt actually likes.

His hand reaches out and finds the spot behind Stink’s left ear, wiggles his fingers there a little. Stink may not be an olfactory treasure trove, but his fur is very soft. And then—

“Ow!”

Foggy asks from over at the table, “Is he licking you again?”

“No. Ow! He’s clawing at me. In my lap. Through my pants.”

“Oh, that. It’s called kneading. Just another sign he likes you. He’s trying to pet you back. Stink is a very giving individual.”

“And why does your cat’s affection have to be directly proportional to my pain level?”

Foggy makes a huffing noise. “Seriously? You take on thugs with multiple busted ribs, you run across half of Hell’s Kitchen with a broken ankle, and you’re complaining about a mere five tiny claws poking lightly into your epidermis?”

“Ten. And I told you I have sensitive skin.”

“Yeah, and a super weird pain tolerance to go along with your super weird senses.”

“How do I make him stop?”

“You don’t.”

“Please…? It’s uncomfortable.”

“He just wants you to feel loved. And quite frankly? You could use the love. Be a good boy and suck it up, Murdock.”

Matt sighs again. This cat. He has a love/hate relationship with the little mongrel. Or big mongrel, rather.

He tries to move Stink’s paws around a little, but the cat won’t have any of it. So Matt surrenders to the recurring pin pricks and hopes Stink will eventually get bored with not receiving further caresses.

He doesn’t, and Matt’s skin suffers for the next half hour. He’s not sure this is exactly his idea of the recuperation time everyone’s been urging him to take.

+-+-+-+-+

_Lick._

Matt grunts. It’s the middle of the freakin’ night.

“Go away,” he mutters, swipes his arm in the general direction of his pillow.

_Lick. Lick. Lick._

“Stink,” he says more loudly. “Leave me alone.”

Of course the cat doesn’t understand. Or acquiesce. And how did it get in here again? Oh, right, he didn’t remember to close the door before he went to bed. Cause… crutches.

And while Foggy went home, the cat didn’t. Foggy had made a long, impassioned speech about how it would be unfair on the poor animal to be transported through half of Hell’s Kitchen again, seeing how Foggy would be back tomorrow anyway. And besides, wouldn’t he like the company? Because Stink definitely would.

So Matt had eventually agreed with a massive internal sigh and a makeshift litter box in his bathroom. He’d made Foggy promise to empty it out first thing in the morning. Cat pee smell is the worst.

Stink’s rough tongue scrapes along Matt’s four-day stubble. It makes a scratching noise that doesn’t take super senses to hear. Matt tilts his head and tries to escape the affectionate assault. The reply from Stink is a little, pitiful meow.

Matt’s hand pokes around for the alarm clock.

“Four twenty-nine AM,” it announces in its mechanical female voice.

“Seriously?” he groans. He can’t believe Foggy’s damn cat is robbing him of quality sleep.

Stink meows again. More urgently. Like he wants something. Food, maybe? He briefly considers calling Foggy a) to ask him what the frig his darn cat needs at stupid o’clock that it would insist on waking him up, and b) just to make Foggy suffer in mutual sleep deprivation.

Matt sits up, suppressing a moan because his ankle still hurts a great deal, grabs Stink by the waist and deposits him on the floor. “Go away and don’t come back before eight.”

Of course he knows the instruction is completely lost on the heap of fur. He gives him a little shove in the hind quarters, and Stink lets out a growl and whips around to paw at him. His claws barely break the skin of the back of Matt’s hand, but it still stings.

“Asshole,” Matt calls after the cat.

Well, at least the little shit’s gone from his bed now. Matt lies back with a groan. Wide awake now. The universe must really hate him.

+-+-+-+-+

Apparently, Stink doesn’t hold grudges.

Because the next time Matt wakes up, it’s from Stink’s coarse tongue dragging repeatedly along his bare ankle. The uninjured one.

“Asshole,” he can only repeat once more, but he doesn’t dare move his foot, afraid it might set off another angry attack involving extended claws.

“Are you insulting my cat?” a familiar voice asks from the living room.

“He’s an asshole. What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.”

Matt sits up with a start. “Seriously?”

“No, it’s barely five AM, because you know how much I love getting up in the middle of the night just to watch my best friend sleep. _Yes_ , it’s actually half past nine.”

Matt tiredly scrubs a hand across his face. Stink’s plushy tail is tickling his upper arm as he prances around Matt in an attempt to garner much wanted attention. Matt ignores him.

He fumbles for the crutches on the floor, heaves himself out of bed to make his way to the bathroom. He hopes Stink has the presence of mind not to become a tripping hazard.

Half an hour later, Stink is happily scrunching his kibbles in the corner near the trashcan, while Foggy puts a plate with toast and scrambled eggs on the table in front of Matt.

“He give you any trouble?”

“Damn thing woke me up at 4:30.”

“Yeah, he does that sometimes.”

“Like I said, he’s an asshole.”

“Did he lick you again?”

“Yeah. My face, of all places,” he mumbles between a forkful of egg.

“He really loves you, you know.”

“Does he have to show me that in the middle of the frigging night?”

Foggy shrugs, which Matt can tell. “How would I know what goes around in that twisted cat brain of his? And, yeah, sometimes he’s an asshole.”

“Glad we finally agree on _some_ thing cat-related.”

“Oh, and by the way. I cleaned out the litter box. I hope you can smell that. Or _not_ smell that.”

Matt tilts up his head, flaring his nostrils just slightly. The kitty litter itself has a stale, dusty odor, but he doesn’t mind that so much as long as it’s clean. “Thanks, Foggy.”

And as if on cue, Stink lets out his own, acknowledging meow.

+-+-+-+-+

Matt could swear Stink has a stealth gene that other cats don’t have.

He could also swear the random licking is a clever ploy on the cat’s part to annoy Matt as much as possible when he least expects it. The fact that it’s always out of the blue and Matt can never predict it just adds insult to injury.

They’re going over the latest trial preparations, with Matt’s still healing leg nicely propped up on Foggy’s couch, when there’s a sensation of barbed wire being dragged across his neck. Just once, but it makes Matt jump. Every time.

Matt’s hand reaches for the source of the irritation, but Stink is already down on the floor, kicking around the little mouse dummy with his front paws. As if nothing ever happened. The little shit.

Matt lets out a grumble.

Foggy lifts his head, and Matt asks, “Are you smiling right now?”

The smile is also in Foggy’s voice. “Uh-huh.”

“Is it all glee and schadenfreude?”

“No, it’s more amusement than anything.”

“Seriously, how is he so sneaky? I swear I've detected cockroaches that were noisier than this cat. I have an opening statement to prepare, I can't be constantly keeping an ear out for Fiendly here."

“Stink. He’s called Stink.”

“Stink is a terrible name. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“ _You_ have.”

“So what? I don’t count?”

“My cat keeps love-licking you. You definitely count.”

“Does he lick you at all?” Matt asks, mostly just out of curiosity.

“Sometimes. But not as much and as lovingly as he does you.”

“Gee, thanks. That’s a compliment, right?”

“Totally. From both me and him.”

“Maybe he likes my shower gel?”

“Nah. He likes you as a person. I can tell.”

“He scratched me this morning. How is that love?”

“You know what they say, right? Love hurts.”

“That’s a terrible platitude, Foggy. Now where were we?”

“Opening statement?”

“Oh, yeah,” Matt replies and turns his attention back to his Braille display.

Stink continues the sudden lick attacks and manages to get a least four more “ows” out of Matt that afternoon. All of them unpredictable and out of nowhere.

+-+-+-+-+

Matt’s ankle heals and he starts Daredeviling again. It’s weeks before he’s back at Foggy’s place.

And he only notices after half an hour that there’s a conspicuous absence of scratchy, random barb-hooked tongue on his skin.

“Hey, Foggy? Is Stink not here?”

“Oh. Uh, no, he lives with Layla now.”

“Heh. How come?”

“I think he was feeling a little neglected. Started to spend more time there than here. She works from home a lot. I think he’s way happier there, with all the company and attention and everything. You wanna see him? I can totally ask her—“

“No.”

Foggy laughs lightly. “That bad, huh?”

He lets out a breath. “You have no idea.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I did. Just… not with the constant licking.”

“I told you, he—“

“Liked me, I know. And while I appreciate that, I’m much happier without constantly having to worry about the next time Scotch Brite would be scraped over my skin.”

Foggy smiles. “Okay, then I’d say it’s a win/win. Or maybe a win/win/win.”

“You don’t miss him?”

“Sometimes. But quite frankly? _I’m_ much happier when I’m not woken up in the wee hours every night by a meow in my ear or a paw poking my belly button. He still comes to visit. I think we’re all getting the best of both worlds.”

“Well, then let’s drink to that,” Matt says and raises his beer bottle.

“To the fishy mouth stink of doom,” Foggy returns the gesture.

“May he forever lick the people who deserve to be loved.”

+-+-+-+-+

THE END.


End file.
